<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Busted by FicFanFun, GrrraceUnderfire</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509693">Busted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicFanFun/pseuds/FicFanFun'>FicFanFun</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire'>GrrraceUnderfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkwardness, Broken Bones, Friendship, Gen, Humor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicFanFun/pseuds/FicFanFun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are not pretty when the resident pickpocket breaks both of his arms. A different take on the episode "The Antique."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Louis LeBeau &amp; Peter Newkirk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There,” Wilson said as he finished casting Newkirk’s left arm. “Six to eight weeks and you’ll be good as new.”</p><p>”Eight weeks? How am I gonna go eight weeks like this?” Newkirk attempted to wave his arms in the air but it was too painful to lift them both. Plaster was surprisingly heavy.</p><p>“You’re obviously going to need a little help,” Wilson snickered, but no one else was laughing. No one had imagined Newkirk would break both arms in a simple little assignment involving a trip to Klink’s quarters to wind cuckoo clocks. The drop from Klink’s window had been a doozy.</p><p>Hogan and LeBeau were with Newkirk in the infirmary, wearing matching expressions of concern.</p><p>“He’s going to need a LOT of help,” Hogan observed.  “He can’t even get himself dressed.”</p><p>”Actually, Sir, it’s w-worse than that,” Newkirk said. “I need to take a slash right now.”  </p><p>Hogan face-palmed himself as Newkirk squirmed uncomfortably. “LeBeau...” Hogan moaned.</p><p>LeBeau looked around. A slash -- what on earth did that mean? And why was Newkirk wriggling like that? Suddenly the penny dropped. <em>Non, pas question!</em></p><p>“You need to... you want me to... to what? Oh mon dieu, surely you’re joking!”</p><p>”Well, I’m not doing it! I’m an officer!” Hogan snapped.</p><p>”Someone help me or you’ll be mmmmopping the floor. And worse,” Newkirk said through gritted teeth.</p><p>”Fine,” LeBeau snarled. “Come on, Newkirk... wait.” He stopped, thought, and closed his eyes in prayer. “Oh no. No. Not that.”</p><p>”Not at the mmmoment, no. But eventually,” Newkirk said, comprehending and sounding miserable. “B-but LeBeau, ffffirst things first.”</p><p>”All right. But we’re doing it right here, with witnesses,” LeBeau said as he unbuttoned Newkirk and fished him out. Wilson helpfully provided the appropriate receptacle. Soon the room was singing with two sounds: a rapid, wet hiss and Newkirk’s sighs of relief. LeBeau handed the vessel off to Wilson with an angry expression and turned away to attend to Newkirk's fly.</p><p>”There, that wasn’t so bad,” Wilson said cheerfully.</p><p>”Speak for yourself,” LeBeau and Newkirk said in unison.</p><p>”How many more hours of this?” Hogan asked the sky.</p><p>“Ten minutes down. That leaves 1,007 hours and 50 minutes to go, Sir,” Wilson said. “Assuming he heals fast.”</p><p>"Oh, he is going to heal in record time," LeBeau snapped. "You're drinking milk, mon ami," he muttered. "Liters and liters of milk." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I don't want milk! I can't stand that rubbish!" Newkirk was complaining mightily as LeBeau tried to force a glass of the white stuff down his gullet.</p><p>"Don't argue with me! You need strong bones! Six weeks--that's all the time I can commit to being your nursemaid. Not one day more. Now drink!" LeBeau was prone to bouts of fury, but usually they were directed against the Germans. And seldom did they involve a person who had to be fed by hand. Possibly because he didn't know any people like that over the age of 2.</p><p>Newkirk made a face like he was sucking a lemon, but he did as he was told. He gagged the milk back, squirming and dribbling the whole time. God, it was running down his neck and pooling under his the rollneck on his jumper. Wet wool. Itchy. Could this day get any worse?</p><p>Newkirk saw out of the corner of his eye that Colonel Hogan, Kinch and Carter were watching from a respectful distance. Though he feared they might be laughing, they weren't. They looked quite concerned. Thankfully everyone else was outside enjoying the fresh air.</p><p>"Come on, drink!" LeBeau roughed him up again, smushing the glass of lukewarm, revolting milk against his lip at the most awkward angle possible. Newkirk was this close to telling Colonel Hogan that LeBeau was not being nice. But he couldn't think of anyone else who'd already seen him without his last shred of dignity. So he was stuck with the annoying Frenchman.</p><p>The truth was, Newkirk had been through worse with LeBeau. There was that time in the cooler, when they first met and Newkirk's guts had turned to liquid. After three days of that, there really wasn't much for him to be embarrassed about in LeBeau's presence.</p><p>He was tired of the rough treatment and decided to pout a little to see if that would evoke some pity. So he dipped his head, cast his eyes downward, and took in a shaky breath.</p><p>"What?" LeBeau said irritably.</p><p>"Nothing," Newkirk said softly, trying to keep that little bit of vibrato going. He bit his lip and willed himself to blush. He was quite good at this, having a deep wellspring of childhood shame to draw on when he need to bring himself down.</p><p>LeBeau let out a sigh. "What?" he said, more gently this time.</p><p>"I don't want milk. You know I hate milk. You hate milk too." He tilted his head and looked up. "Why do I have to drink the milk?" He blinked slowly.</p><p>LeBeau relented, putting the glass down. "I'm sorry, Pierre. I just want you to get better. Milk is good for your bones."</p><p>Newkirk smiled softly, still tipping that head. <em>Works every time</em>, he thought to himself.</p><p>"Louis?" he said, still smiling.</p><p>"Oui, mon pote?"</p><p>"My shirt's all wet from this bleeding milk. And now I have to go to the loo again."</p><p>LeBeau cradled his hands in face and groaned.  Hogan, Carter and Kinch retreated back into Hogan's office, smirking and suppressing laughs.</p><p>"Newkirk's going to be fine," Hogan said. "It's Louis I'm worried about."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The cooler incident is a reference to GrrraceUnderfire's story "Becoming Pierre."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>LeBeau needed a volunteer.</p><p>”Someone help him eat,” he said throwing up his hands. “He won’t open his mouth for me.”</p><p>”Have you tried ‘Here comes the choo-choo train’?” Carter asked. “Because that always worked for me. Ow! Hey, that wasn’t nice, Newkirk.”</p><p>”No kicking,” Hogan said. “Aren't you hungry, Newkirk?”</p><p>”No. I just want a smoke,” the Corporal replied.</p><p>”There’s your answer, LeBeau,” Hogan said. “Not hungry. Carter, you smoke. Help him out.”</p><p>”Of course he’s hungry! He’s just stubborn,” LeBeau said. “Food first, then he can smoke.” In some matters, Hogan knew he was outranked, so he shrugged his shoulders. Carter reached for Newkirk’s fork, but Hogan stopped his arm. “I’ll do the honors. I sent him on this hare-brained mission.”</p><p>”You said it, not me,” Newkirk grumbled. Hogan raised an eyebrow, so Newkirk added, “Sorry, Gov. Just feeling a bit inconvenienced.”</p><p>“I get that,” Hogan said. “Here, potatoes. Yum, yum.”</p><p>”With all due respect, Sir, it’s the commentary that’s churning my stomach. Louis with all his ‘nom, nom, nom.’ I can’t bloody stand it.” LeBeau simply rolled his eyes.</p><p>”My mother did ‘here comes the aeroplane,’” Hogan mulled. “I’m pretty sure that’s where it all started for me. But I can be quiet,” Hogan said. He held up a bit of rutabaga several inches from Newkirk’s lips and waited for him to dive in.</p><p>Kinch watched as Newkirk craned his neck and tried for the food. Finally he spoke up. “You have to bring it to his lips, Sir. He’s not supposed to be bobbing for apples. Speaking of which...”</p><p>He took an apple from his deep jacket pocket and neatly sliced off a few bite-size pieces, then pierced them with his fork. “Here. These taste better than rutabagas and turnips,” he said. </p><p>Newkirk took a bite and agreed. “Much better. Thanks mate. I see you have a bit of bread there.” Kinch tore them into smaller bits and popped them in Newkirk’s mouth one by one. Soon Newkirk was happily consuming at least some of his evening meal and Kinch had a new assignment.</p><p>”I’ll handle breakfast, but you have to do dinner,” LeBeau informed Kinch. “Carter, you’re in charge of his cigarettes and you can help me get him dressed.”</p><p>”And undressed,” Carter pointed out.</p><p>”Yes, yes, of course,” LeBeau said dismissively, “And brush his teeth. I’ll handle the rest of...”</p><p>”Hygiene,” Carter said brightly.</p><p>LeBeau and Newkirk winced simultaneously. “Yes,” LeBeau said.</p><p>”What about you, Colonel?” Carter asked.</p><p>”Rank has privileges,” Hogan replied. “I’ll pinch hit. Up to a point.”</p><p>”Good, you can start by getting him ready when it’s time for roll call.” Hogan looked bewildered. “His coat,” LeBeau said.</p><p>”That’s dressing,” Hogan pointed out. He backed down immediately when he saw LeBeau’s fierce expression. “But, um, it’s a little different. OK, sure. I’ll do it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ow! Cor blimey, Sir, stop shoving! It won’t fit!”</p><p>“I’m sure we can get this cast through the sleeves if we just apply ourselves, Newkirk,” Hogan said.</p><p>Then he heard a ripping sound. “Of course we can, if you don’t mind tearing the bloody lining,” Newkirk moaned. “Now, how am I going to fix that?” Newkirk didn’t usually get whiny, but at this moment he sounded like a child whose sandcastle had just been trampled.</p><p>”If you show me how, I can do it for you,” Carter said helpfully.</p><p>Newkirk turned red as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back his rage. “Not a bloody chance,” he said under his breath. “You’d only mangle it, and this coat is the only decent piece of clothing I own.” He looked at it sadly as Colonel Hogan held it in his hands. “My coat,” he mumbled.</p><p>”Even if you get one cast through, you’ll never get both through, Colonel,” Kinch said. “He can’t bend his elbows.” He took the coat from Colonel Hogan, draped it over Newkirk’s shoulders, and then buttoned the top buttons. “There,” he said, “that’ll keep you warm.”</p><p>Out in the yard during roll call, Newkirk remained silent. The Kommandant didn’t yet know what had happened to him. But leave it to Klink to choose this night to actually inspect the men.</p><p>”LeBeau, shave,” he said. “Carter, wash.” He got to Newkirk and looked him over with an admiring look that turned quickly to a sneer.</p><p>”Are you going to the opera, Corporal?” he asked.</p><p>”Me, Sir?” Newkirk answered. “Heavens, no, I don’t care for it, Sir. I’m rather more the music hall type, really.”</p><p>”I mean the cape, Newkirk,” Klink continued. “I wore something much like it in my day. I find it quite eccentric for a soldier, though.”</p><p>”Oh, this old thing, Sir? It’s just my usual coat. It’s a different but highly acceptable way of wearing it. It’s covered under the RAF Handbook, section 7, chapter 22A, ‘Garment Variations, Draping Method.’ It's for those days when you're feeling a bit rakish. Even in a uniform, there's always room for individual expression, Sir.” He was lying, of course, but that had never stopped Peter before.</p><p>Klink was unimpressed. “Very fetching,” he said sarcastically. “Now kindly remove it and wear it correctly, with your arms through the sleeves.”</p><p>Hogan nodded and stepped in to assist. “Allow me,” he said. He unbuttoned Newkirk’s coat and slid it off him.</p><p>”What on earth did you do to your arms?” Klink said, sounding shocked.</p><p>Newkirk looked at his arms. “Blimey! They appear to be broken Sir — both of them!” He looked at Klink in amazement. “I wonder how that happened?”</p><p>”Don’t be ridiculous, Newkirk. Are you telling me you didn’t know you had casts on your arms?”</p><p>At that point, Hogan jumped in. “He’s just joshing you, Sir. It’s that twisted British sense of humor. He broke both his arms in a fall from the bunk.”</p><p>”He fell out of bed? A grown man?”</p><p>”Uh, not exactly Sir. The boys were roughhousing, you see, just letting off some steam by leaping from bunk to bunk and he missed. Boom!”</p><p>Newkirk glared at Hogan for that insulting little invention. He could leap from roof to roof and never miss. Bunk to bunk was a breeze.</p><p>“This had better not be a trick,” Klink said, roughly grabbing the cast on Newkirk’s left arm and yanking it up to inspect it. In an instant, Newkirk was on the ground, writhing in pain.</p><p>“Not a trick, Sir,” he said through gritted teeth. He tried to get back on his feet, but there was no way to lever himself. Kinch and Hogan hauled him up. As Klink dismissed the formation, Newkirk was the first to head to the barracks door, but he stood in front of it, unable to open it. In exasperation, he kicked it, but it was latched and would not budge. He could feel something hot and wet on his face and realized he was crying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Whoa, whoa, what the hell is going on?” Hogan asked as he pushed the door open for Newkirk. “No need to get so testy. Go on, sit.” He gestured toward the bench, but it was tucked under the table. Newkirk started to pull it out with one foot but managed to tip it over instead. He kicked in a fury.</p><p>”Hey! You don’t have to knock things over!” Hogan snapped. That was when he finally noticed Newkirk's face. Oh brother. He needed to give him privacy, and now. “In my office,” he said firmly. But as he closed the door behind him, his expression softened. He helped Newkirk sit on his bottom bunk and hovered over him, a hand on his head. “Calm down. What’s wrong”</p><p>”What’s wrong? Everything’s bloody wrong!” Newkirk attempted to lift an arm to wipe his face but ended up just growling in frustration. Hogan, seeing his struggle, pulled out his own handkerchief and dabbed at Newkirk’s eyes and runny nose. He sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulder.</p><p>”I can’t wipe me face. Blimey, I can’t wipe me bum! And my arms bleeding well hurt, Sir. LeBeau’s pouring milk down my throat and you’re making me chase your hand around to get any ffffood and I can’t get dressed and...” He gasped. “How am I going to do this for six bleeding weeks, Sir?” At that depressing thought, the waterworks turned on full force. “I’m sorry to be such a b-burden, Sir,” he sobbed. “And I nnneed to blow my nose.”</p><p>“It’s really hard,” Hogan said sympathetically as he held his handkerchief in place and pressed down a nostril. “Blow,” he instructed, and Newkirk did. They repeated the process on the other side. Then Hogan sat back down and put his hand on Newkirk’s knee. “You’re not a burden.”</p><p>Newkirk snorted out a laugh. “Are you kidding me, Sir? This is the actual definition of ‘a burden.’ I’m a heavy load that everyone else has to shoulder. Could you wipe my eyes?”</p><p>As Colonel Hogan swabbed his face, Newkirk composed himself. This wasn't how he acted. Not ever. He never lost his cool. "Sorry, Sir," he said. "I need to pull myself together. You know I never cry."</p><p>"Never," Hogan agreed, though he knew that was a lie. "Are you still in pain?"</p><p>Newkirk thought about it. "Yes, actually," he said. "It hurt more before Wilson put the casts on, but it hurts different now. It's sort of throbbing."</p><p>Hogan nodded. "Wilson said it would hurt for a few days And when you're in pain, it's hard to see things clearly."</p><p>"What is there to see clearly? I'm a bleeding cripple for the next six weeks at least!" Newkirk said.</p><p>"It's not forever," Hogan said. "And we're going to help you. In fact, we're going to start by getting you to bed."</p><p>"I can't get in my bleeding bunk, Sir," Newkirk said.</p><p>"You'll switch with Carter for now," Hogan said. He ran a finger over the casts--first one, then the other. "The hard part is that they're above the elbow, so you don't have much motion. But Wilson said that in a few weeks he'll probably be able to switch you to a short cast. Once you can bend your elbows you'll be able to do more for yourself."</p><p>"That'll be good, Sir," Newkirk said. He looked down and muttered, "I'm not used to depending on anyone."</p><p>"None of us are," Hogan said. "Not like this. But we'll figure everything out, OK?"</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Newkirk was sitting on the bench inside the barracks, wincing as he rested both arms on the table. He was still in pain, and he had tossed and turned all night in Carter’s stupid bunk. He didn’t want to sleep there, but he couldn’t climb to his own. Carter’s lumps and indentations were completely different from his.</p><p>He was still in his nightshirt. LeBeau had woken Newkirk up early so he could privately help him with his most pressing need, and then settled him on the bench and poured him a mug of coffee. Roll call was half an hour away. Carter was still snoring up top and most of the room was quiet.</p><p>”Thanks for the coffee, LeBeau,” Newkirk said. “Could you...”</p><p>Colonel Hogan had just emerged from his quarters. “I’ve got this, LeBeau,” he said. He took a sip from Newkirk’s mug and got an outraged look in return. “Take it easy. Just testing the temperature,” he said.</p><p>”Oh. Good idea. And g-good morning, Sir,” Newkirk replied.</p><p>“Good morning to you, too,” Hogan said. He administered the first sip. </p><p>“Ahh,” Newkirk said as Hogan pulled the mug away. “Just right.”</p><p>”Yes, Goldilocks,” Hogan joked. He offered more coffee and soon the cup was drained. “Now, anything else?”</p><p>”You know what goes with coffee, mon Colonel,” LeBeau said. He and Newkirk both looked at the Colonel, with Newkirk batting his eyes, but Hogan wasn’t getting the clue. “Cigarettes,” LeBeau finally said.</p><p>”I’m dying for a smoke,” Newkirk said.</p><p>”Mmm, I don’t know,” Hogan said. “I don’t really approve of anyone smoking as much as you do, Newkirk. Maybe you could cut back.”</p><p>”Not that! No, please! It’s my only pleasure!” Newkirk was suddenly hit by the truth of his own words as he looked at his poor useless arms and then glanced into his lap. “Oh my, God. It really IS my only pleasure. For six weeks!”</p><p>”There are a lot of things I will help you with, mon ami, but THAT is not one of them,” LeBeau said. “Colonel, please, give him a cigarette to take the edge off.”</p><p>”OK, OK,” Hogan said. Yes, Newkirk was going to be a bit tense for a while.</p><p>Newkirk took in his first hit of nicotine of the day, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and letting it out smoothly. “I didn’t know you objected to smoking, Sir. You’re always stealing cigars.”</p><p>”It’s all about the hunt, my boy,” Hogan said. “I start them, but I don’t finish them. I’m happy as long as Klink can’t have them.”</p><p>”You really are a twister, Sir,” Newkirk said with admiration in his eyes. Then he gestured with his chin toward his cigarettes. “Sir, I’m a chain smoker. You’re going to have to pick up the pace.”</p><p>”Oh, yeah, got it. Sorry,” Hogan said. He glanced at his watch. “Roll call is in 20 minutes. Don’t you need...”</p><p>”A shave? Oui,” LeBeau said, depositing a basin of fresh water on the table. He started lathering up Newkirk’s face. “This will be quick. Your beard is light.”</p><p>A few strokes later, Newkirk was smoothly shaven, pumped up with cigarettes and coffee, and feeling rather pampered. He was, at least, until LeBeau prodded him to stand while Hogan yanked his nightshirt off in one swift motion.</p><p>”Hey! I don’t change like this! I put my trousers on first!” Newkirk protested.</p><p>”I would do that too if I had so much flab around the middle,” LeBeau observed.</p><p>”Is this like a kilt?” Hogan asked as he examined the nightshirt. “I always assumed you wore shorts under it.”</p><p>”I hate you both,” Newkirk muttered. “Now will one of you chaps be so kind as to find my drawers and trousers?”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>